


to cross the plains for mountains, i lament

by TataniSky



Series: Ideas Graveyard [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Dark, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Gods, M/M, Magic, Mental Instability, Original Character(s), Overpowered characters, Reincarnation, Self-Indulgent, Semi-reader insert, Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Transmigration, making it up as I go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TataniSky/pseuds/TataniSky
Summary: She is not the main character of this story. The Inquisition has a greater purpose, as these epic ballads usually do, and it's lead by a comparatively capable person. She's here playing unwilling witness again; remaining on the sidelines, unassuming and weak, watching miracles and tragedies take place. At least, that's the role she preferred - it would be lovely if the people around her would stop ruining the plot.
Relationships: Fen'Harel | Solas/Original Female Character(s), Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Solas/Reader, others
Series: Ideas Graveyard [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556299
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	to cross the plains for mountains, i lament

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of Chinese transmigration and Japanese isekai novels lately. Completely inspired by those, along with a heavy dose of self-indulgence. Technically an original character, but could be read as a reader-insert as well.

She opens her eyes.

She's cold and the back of her tongue tastes acrid ( _ poison) _ . Her head is foggy and her consciousness is swimming - from far away she hears voices. She can't make out what they're saying. She blinks and it seems to take a day for her eyes to open again.

She thinks she feels scared, but the feeling is slow and murky from the drug. She tries to make noise, but she's not sure she manages.

The candles throw dancing shadows against the dark, stone walls. One of the shadows moves closer; it takes a moment for her eyes to focus on the looming face. It's one that she recognizes. A boy from her Clan, though his name is escaping her. She thinks that it must start with a ‘k.’

She tries again to speak, but her mouth won’t move. The young man does not smile, his face is an impassive mask. 

"You deserve this," he whispers, eyes deep and steady.

She can only stare at him, whatever drug they gave her has left her paralyzed. She's not even breathing, the slow pressure of suffocation building in her chest, but her heart slows instead of races.

Candle light glinted off the edge of the blade. Despite having grown up together he doesn't hesitate; it slides like butter between the spaces of her ribs. Blood bubbles up her throat. His eyes never leave hers; she's dead in moments.

Silence lays heavy like a blanket. He pulls the knife free and flicks the blood off. He leaves her corpse to stare at the ceiling, stepping off the dais. His kin wait for him at the bottom of the steps.

A small noise behind him makes him falter, doubt crossing his face for the first time. The three other people he'd come with were pale-faced.

An ominous air disturbs the candles and the corpse on the stone table gasps. It's a wretched, wet sound. The female of his group whimpers, a trembling hand covering her mouth.

He turns slowly, heart skipping in his chest. She's sitting up ( _ impossible, she was dead), _ retching blood off the side of the table. 

"Mathal save us," a whisper draws her attention, head snapping up, eyes contemptuous orange in the fire light.

Her mouth opens, a red snarl, and a gurgling hiss comes out. The hole in her chest stitches together seamlessly, as if it were never there, and she jerks as she slides off the table. 

Her murderers scream, finally jarred into action. One of the men runs away to report to the Clan, the rest brandish weapons. They cannot allow a demon to escape into the territory.

"Fiend!" the one who stabbed her shouts, daggers in both hands as he stalks forward to finish the job.

"No, be careful!" the female says, slinging a staff off her back and casting a protective buff on him. 

He sees that she cannot get up from her slump and his caution drops. It must only be some low level demon that had possessed her. She watches his approach with unblinking eyes, her throat working noiselessly. She wants to speak, he thinks, but the body is still paralyzed with poison. For the best, he thinks; he does not want to listen to a demon's lies.

He places both blades to her throat in an X, prepared to remove head from shoulders. There is a moment of quiet deja vu as he stares into her eyes.

He puts tension on the blades but before he can do anything, she opens her mouth and howls. It's such a loud, hatefully bitter sound that for a precious moment he's dazed. 

Her hands come up like claws, wrapping around his wrists and suddenly his whole arm is on fire. She twists with all the effort it takes to remove butterfly wings and his forearms snap like dry kindling; bones slicing through skin. The protection spell useless.

He doesn't feel it at first, only stares in horror. Then he's also screaming, trying to scramble away. The stone beneath his feet is slick with both their blood and he stumbles, falls. 

His kin are shouting behind him. He feels the beginning of a healing spell take effect, but it's too late. She grabs him by the face with both hands, nails digging bloody lines into the meat of his cheeks. Her eyes are large and fathomless; he swears they also weren’t that color a moment ago.

"You deserve this," she seethes, pressing her thumbs into his eyes until the jelly came out and silencing him forever with a jerk of her wrists. 

"No!" an anguished cry from the woman, who drops to her knees and sobs.The male snarls, knocks his bow and lets loose with a curse. 

It hits her in the shoulder. She grunts as the force rocks her, but seems otherwise unaffected. She stands on shaky legs, rips out the arrow - the wound sizzles and closes in mere seconds. The man is not deterred, he empties his quiver into her. 

"Vara, get up and help me!" he yells to the grief-stricken woman. She doesn't seem to hear him.

Riddled with arrows, still she walked forward. The archer finally pulls out his hunting knife and charges forward. She's still holding the original arrow - she grabs the naked blade as he swings it and stabs the arrowhead into his neck over and over until his throat is a bloody pulp. He drowns in his own blood. 

Finally, she shuffles to a stop next to the crying mage. She notices the unity knot hanging at Vara's waist. It matches the one on her murderer.

It is always the softer feelings of love that ruin lives the most.

She snaps the girl's neck and walks on, pulling out arrows as she went.

She's met by quiet forest once she exits the cave. For a moment she simply breathes, then continues on.

The Clan was small, only fifteen people including herself and the three people she’d just killed.

Thanks to advance warning, they were waiting for her. A pity, they honestly should have run. Many gasped at the sight of her - covered in grime and blood, clothes tattered, and a bloodied hunting knife in one hand.

"Where are Kola and the others?" asked the one who had fled to give warning. 

He asked again, louder, "Where are they, fiend?!"

The able-bodied Clan members shifted restlessly.

"Steady yourselves," came the calm voice of their Keeper. "Hunters, take aim," she continued.

There was barely any hesitation. A line of bows were knocked. Someone from the back shuffles forward slowly, an elderly man. He pleaded, "Melan, she is your daughter…"

Keeper Melan's expression did not waver, as calm as still water. "I have no daughter."

With a motion, the attack began.

It took her twenty minutes to end the remaining eleven lives - young and old alike. As she stood over the body of the Keeper, she felt warmth trail down her cheeks. She passed her fingers through it stoically, rolling the wetness against her fingers - tears.

"Stupid girl," she whispered, "she never loved you "

A faint silhouette took the watery shape of a little girl near her feet. The little girl was hugging her knees and crying silently, her small shoulders trembling. She looked upon this body’s former spirit dispassionately, feeling only bitter fatigue.

"Move on, child. You have cursed me to carry on in your place."

She reached down to the spirit, which transformed into a ball of soft light and sat docilely in her palms. Blowing on it gently, it dispersed into sparkling dust and drifted off into the ether.

"May the River take and guide you."

\---

Four months later, the sky rips open.


End file.
